KENTUCKY.

OVER IN KENTUCKY.

HIS is the smokiest city in the world,"

"THIS

A slight voice, wise and weary, said, "I know. My sash is tied, and, if my hair was curled,

I'd like to have my prettiest hat and go There where some violets had to stay, you said, Before your torn-up butterflies were dead

Over in Kentucky."

Then one whose half-sad face still wore the hue
The North Star loved to light and linger on,
Before the war, looked slowly at me too,
And darkly whispered : "What is gone is gone.
Yet, though it may be better to be free,

I'd rather have things as they used to be

Over in Kentucky."

Perhaps I thought how fierce the master's hold,
Spite of all armies, kept the slave within;
How iron chains, when broken, turned to gold,
In empty cabins, where glad songs had been
Before the Southern sword knew blood and rust,
Before wild cavalry sprang from the dust,
Over in Kentucky.

Perhaps But, since two eyes, half full of tears,
Half full of sleep, would love to keep awake

With fairy pictures from my fairy years,
I have a phantom pencil that can make
Shadows of moons, far back and faint, to rise
On dewier grass and in diviner skies,

Over in Kentucky.

For yonder river, wider than the sea,

Seems sometimes in the dusk a visible moan Between two worlds, one fair, one dear to me. The fair has forms of ever-glimmering stone, Weird-whispering ruin, graves where legends hide, And lies in mist upon the charmed side,

Over in Kentucky.

The dear has restless, dimpled, pretty hands, Yearning toward unshaped steel, unfancied wars, Unbuilded cities, and unbroken lands,

With something sweeter than the faded stars And dim, dead dews of my lost romance, found In beauty that has vanished from the ground

Over in Kentucky.

Sarah Morgan Bryan Piatt.

MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME.

HE sun shines bright in our old Kentucky home;

THE

'Tis summer, the darkeys are gay;

The corn top's ripe and the meadow's in the bloom,
While the birds make music all the day;

The young folks roll on the little cabin floor,
All merry, all happy, all bright;

By'm by hard times comes a knockin' at the door, Then, my old Kentucky home, good night!

CHORUS.

Weep no more, my lady; oh, weep no more to-day!
We'll sing one song for my old Kentucky home,
For our old Kentucky home far away.

They hunt no more for the 'possum and the coon,
On the meadow, the hill, and the shore;
-They sing no more by the glimmer of the moon,
On the bench by the old cabin door;

The day goes by, like a shadow o'er the heart,
With sorrow where all was delight;

The time has come, when the darkeys have to part,
Then, my old Kentucky home, good night!
Weep no more, my lady, etc.

The head must bow, and the back will have to bend, Wherever the darkey may go;

A few more days, and the troubles all will end,

In the field where the sugar-cane grow;

A few more days to tote the weary load,
No matter it will never be light;

A few more days till we totter on the road,
Then, my old Kentucky home, good night!
Weep no more, my lady, etc.

Stephen C. Foster.

TENNESSEE.

MY NATIVE LAND, MY TENNESSEE!"

[Written for Mrs. W. Barrow.]

HE sunset flings upon the sea

THE

Its golden gush of life and light;

The waves with pleasant melody

On the white sands are sparkling bright;
Old Ocean, round his many isles,
Like a fair infant sleeping, smiles :

So would I sleep, and dream of thee,
My own, my native land, my Tennessee!

Tall mountains with their snowy cones,
Far inland, bathed in sunshine, blaze;
Like gray-haired giants on their thrones,
Crowned with the young dawn's golden rays.
Toward them I lean, and fain would lie
At the feet of those that pierce thy sky,
Thou dearest land on earth to me,

My own, my native land, my Tennessee!

Landward and swift the sea-bird flies,

Dipping his strong and nervous wings
In the blue wave, as home he hies,
A truant, from his wanderings.
He goes to seek his gentle mate,
His young, with longing eyes that wait:
So would I fain haste home to thee,
My own, my native land, my Tennessee!

Existence! 't is but toil and strife,
Yet I'll not murmur or repine,
So that the sunset of my life,

Sweet day, be clear and calm as thine;
So that I take my last, long rest,
Dear native land, in thy loved breast:
Land of the gallant and the free!

My native, native land, my Tennessee !

Albert Pike.

KANSAS.

THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS.

E cross the prairie as of old

WE

The pilgrims crossed the sea,
To make the West, as they the East,
The homestead of the free!

We go to rear a wall of men
On Freedom's southern line,
And plant beside the cotton-tree
The rugged Northern pine!

We're flowing from our native hills
As our free rivers flow;

The blessing of our Mother-land

Is on us as we go.

We go to plant her common schools
On distant prairie swells,

And give the Sabbaths of the wild
The music of her bells.